Unravelling
by Bons Baisers
Summary: 500 word ficlets, because I was bored.  If you like them, maybe I'll write some more.
1. Unravelling

Not my world, just my playground.

* * *

When had night become such a beautiful thing?

For all its welcoming anonymity and the freely proffered protection of its shadows, darkness also brought with it vulnerability, because ugly things hid in the darkness, terrible, vicious things. He was canny, he made himself night's friend. He knew how best to take advantage of night's hiding places, but others also concealed themselves in the darkness, purposed with darker designs than simple defense. Oh, yes, darkness was a tricky old friend at best, and a backstabbing traitor at worst, but never had it been such a lovely spectacle.

And yet – and yet, the stars winked with a queer kind of mischief he had never taken note of before. The sweet scent of jasmine and other night-blooming flowers wafted along a warm southern breeze, teasing his senses and stirring his hair with its gentle kisses. A lazy melody of crickets and locusts hummed in his ears, punctuated every so often by the comic belch of a bullfrog. The warmth of the summer night hung like a fog or a cloud over the clearing he had chosen to repair to for the evening, a languid, humid ambiance that would have been unbearable but for the fragrance laden wind.

Sultry – that was the word the monk used. It fit, somehow. The night was like a woman, very like a woman, unnervingly close and warm, but sweet and soft and sensuous as well. The rustle of the hot air in the trees could have been throaty laughter, the press of the heavy summer air the fragile, comfortable weight of a female body lying atop him. Overhead, a spangled cloak of black sky and throbbing stars shrouded the intimacy of the sultry summer night.

His claws tightened reflexively about the woman in his arms. _Idiot,_ he chided himself, and a glimmer of a smile bared a single fang. Soft, he was getting so soft. Soft for waxing poetic over a thing he had watched come and pass a thousand times. Softer still for permitting his perceptions to become so skewed.

Because it wasn't only the night that had become beautiful. A new sort of shine glossed the days as well. The reflection of sunlight off of a lake entranced him, the murmur of a brook enticed him to imagine words in its mutterings, the scent of the world was green and fresh and new, and he was filled with such an awareness of these beautiful things that he could scarcely close his eyes to sleep.

Beside him, the woman responsible for his off-centeredness shifted in her sleep, clutching at his haori with urgent hands. Her pretty face twisted unpleasantly; he stroked it lightly with a claw, and she released him, though she nuzzled more deeply into his embrace.

"Inuyasha, you idiot," she mumbled plaintively, dreaming yet. He laughed at her, silently, happily, laughed at himself, and laughed at his old best enemy, his treacherous friend, the darkness, abandoned for the steadfast protection of Kagome's loyal, beautiful heart.


	2. Pride, or Vainglory

Not my world, just my playground.

**Pride, or Vainglory**

A soft northern breeze stirred Sesshoumaru's hair; he restored the silver locks to their proper arrangement, pulling the long tresses straight with a practiced grace. Beneath the studied elegance, however, his senses were heightened to a battle-readiness peculiar to the veteran warrior. His left foot sat lightly on the ground, while his right gripped the earth as if rooted to it, prepared to thrust him into the sky to avoid an attack, to stabilize him should he choose instead to accept and block the blow, or alternately to propel him forward into the fight. No casual observer would have been able to recognize the difference between the two.

So it was with some surprise that he noted Inuyasha's eyes flicker briefly toward his feet, then narrow in consternation, immediately picking up Sesshoumaru's intention to engage him in battle. With a scowl, the half-demon dug both heels into the soft, loamy earth, already on the defensive. It was a wise choice, and this too surprised Sesshoumaru. There was a time the young half-demon would have attacked first, thirsty for the chance to prove himself against a greater opponent, especially one who had shamed him so many times before.

Inuyasha muttered quietly to the monk, who stood behind him. The human looked at first as though he would argue; however, upon stealing a glance at the strange, foreign girl and the demon-slayer, he swallowed whatever objections he had, and motioned for the two women to follow him. Neither seemed willing to go, but either Inuyasha's barked orders or the monk's calm, analytical advice swayed them, for the three human beings, the cat, and the little fox retreated from the field of combat.

The demon lord permitted himself a small frown in his confusion. Inuyasha seldom made allowances for the possibility of failure; his cocksure arrogance did not permit it. And yet, he had positioned himself to fight a defensive battle, realizing that the only opportunity he might have to land a blow would come with Sesshoumaru's attack. And he had sent his companions away. He had done that before, once or twice, but generally only after he had been injured, after his circumstances had become dire.

Inuyasha's ears quivered above his grim countenance. He did not hurl crudities or insults, but waited, silent and watchful, for Sesshoumaru's attack.

Sesshoumaru's frown deepened. For the first time that he could recall, Inuyasha had openly recognized his superiority. It struck him that his father's second son fully appreciated the danger he was in. Knowing himself outclassed, Inuyasha nonetheless readied himself and his companions for battle, neither afraid nor foolishly overconfident. His behavior was inconsistent with the simple, reckless arrogance Sesshoumaru had always accredited to his half-brother. Such grim-faced determination in the face of near-certain defeat smacked strongly of genuine pride, rather than simple vainglory, and his willingness to sacrifice his vanity for his companions reeked of honor.

Dropping the point of his sword, Sesshoumaru turned and walked away, suddenly, inexplicably reluctant to fight his brother.


End file.
